Down the Road

Roads and life and how roads are like life

Summer’s denouement

10

This post on another blog I follow reminded me of this piece I wrote in 2008. The photos are from my first roll of film, shot in August of 1976, of the children I wrote about here. It seems appropriate to re-run this on Labor Day; you’ll see why as you read it.

During my 1970s kidhood when school started after Labor Day as God intended, my mid-August birthday always meant summer was beginning to end. By then, the afternoon sun was at its hottest and most intense, the annual August dry spell began to toughen and dry spring’s tender greenery, and the street lights switched on earlier to send everyone inside for long quiet evenings with our families and our TVs.

Colleen and David

Colleen and David

The dozens of children all up and down Rabbit Hill, as our parents nicknamed our prolific neighborhood, always sensed these changes and we all began to squeeze in as much play as we could before time ran out. One fellow down the street, thinking he was Mickey Rooney in Babes in Armsalways organized and directed an end-of-summer show, an extravaganza that nobody would come and watch because everybody was in it. I would push to reach the new tree-climbing heights my brother and his best friend had mastered weeks before, heightening their schadenfreude when I would inevitably fall, land on my back, have the wind knocked out of me, and make that loud but hilarious sucking noise that only sounds like death is imminent. Somebody would connive their mother into have a big running-through-the-sprinkler get together at which gallons of Kool-Aid were served. Several kids sold lemonade or toys at a family garage sale to raise money for Jerry’s Kids. The chubby fellow who lived where the street curved sang his slightly naughty rhymes more often (“In 1944/My father went to the war/He stepped on the gas/And blew out his ass/In 1944!”) hoping to squeeze out another laugh. And then came the telethon, which was on almost everybody’s TV, and we all knew it was over.

Darin

Darin

Sure, we could still play war in full army gear in the wide easement behind the houses, ride our bikes and Big Wheels up and down the hill making siren sounds as if we were a horde of ambulances and police cars (imagine 20 children doing this on your street!), play endless Red Rover in the freckled girl’s front yard, and watch the four-year-old girl next door eat sand with a spoon (oh, if her mom only knew) the day after school started too. We simply lost most of our enthusiasm. It was time to button ourselves back down and return to school-day routines.

Meredith and Dawn

Meredith and Dawn

Rabbit Hill conditioned me well; I still recognize and lament the signs of summer’s end. My kids are back in school (since a few days after my birthday, what nonsense). The telethon has come and gone, although Jerry Lewis isn’t welcome there anymore. The grass hasn’t grown much in weeks because of the annual dry spell. My air conditioner has been off more days than it’s been on; it was even too chilly the other morning to drive to work with the window down. I’ve crammed as much outside time as I can into these days to enjoy their freedom, but the end is in sight. Shorts will soon give way to long pants and short sleeves will give way to long sleeves. I’ll be in a windbreaker with a rake in my hands, collecting my trees’ considerable deposits. The snow will fly and I’ll be hunkered down at home. I still feel restricted, buttoned down, in fall and winter.

Dawn

A different Dawn

Here’s hoping for a long, warm Indian summer first!

readmore2

Growing up on Rabbit Hill
was all right. Read about it here.

10 thoughts on “Summer’s denouement

  1. davidvanilla

    I love that you shared these memories of your kidhood. I am sitting here thinking with sadness that your generation was the last to live a childhood of such joys. Seeing and hearing the laughter and squealing of 20 kids playing in the neighborhood? I suppose it shall never be so again. Change is inevitable, but progress is another animal entirely.

    1. Jim Grey Post author

      I remember my grandmother lamenting that during my childhood were many things that she got to experience that I didn’t. Yet somehow I managed to have a relatively fulfilling childhood. I expect it will be much the same for my sons, even though I recognize so little about their time as youth, compared to mine.

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